To Love a Beast
by LunaMarr
Summary: A collection of drabbles focused around Rumpelstiltskin and Belle relationship. From Angst all the way to fluff, will be adding onto.
1. Mending

Title: Mending

Rating: K

Status: OTP mode

~O~

She was always quiet when he was spinning. Occasionally she would ask a question, her voice polite but curious, and that would be it. Today was different. She sat in a chair adjacent to him, her head bowed as she stared determinedly at the shirt in her hands. It was a deep orange and made of silk, and one of his preferred articles. He arched an eyebrow as he heard her release a huff of annoyance, and glanced in worry at the piece of cloth clutched in her delicate fingers. He'd managed to rip a huge line down the backside and instead of magicking the shirt back to its rightful state he returned home, feeling rather giddy to return to his new caretaker.

There was something pleasant about having someone else in the castle, and a someone else that could cook and clean was even nicer. It was boring working on the upkeep of Dark Castle, for with a flick of his wrist the entire place was clean, his meal cooked, and his clothes folded and pressed. How efficiently _droll_. There was no sense of accomplishment, no time in the action at all. With Belle Dark Castle not only felt cleaner but…_homier_ if he did think so himself. It was nice to come to his castle and find a warm cup of tea waiting and the fire lit. The aroma of a freshly cooked dinner filled the air and the red evening light drifted lazily through the windows. It had been a very long time since Rumple had felt what it was like to come home to a woman, and it was strangely comforting.

Rumplestiltskin liked it. He liked it a lot.

He found quickly that Belle was good at a large number of things, her cooking was superb, her cleaning excellent, her conversation warm and her quips entertaining; but there was a skill he soon realized she lacked in.

Sewing.

Or more specifically, anything involving a needle or relatively sharp object.

He nearly jumped out of skin when her cry pierced the near silence, and looked up in time to see the tiny bead of blood gather on her finger from the needles cruel prick. With a sigh of resignation he stood, leaving his spinning and pulling a dining chair up next to her. She went to put the finger to her lips, her tongue ready to clean the small wound when he caught it, examining the small blemish with distaste before turning his eyes to hers. With all the chastisement worthy of a child he flourished his hand over her index finger and the wound and pain healed over instantly. With a teasing smile he pulled the shirt from her grasp and with a pair of summoned scissors snipped away her messy stitches, (which she pouted at) and turned the article inside out.

"Watch." His voice serious, he made quick work of the shirt, feeling her warm gaze watching his hands every movement as she took in his lesson. Reversing his shirt he held it up to her gaze, smirking cheekily as she took in his handiwork.

Her cheeks a warm flush of pink she took the shirt with a quirked smile, her eyes bright with enjoyment.

Looking back he realized she never seemed to have any more trouble after that evening.


	2. Flood

Title: Flood

Rating: K+

Status: Guilty

~O~

As the months passed he wonders if she is surprised by the weather. The conditions he is accustomed to are unusual elsewhere, extreme even. In winter, snow beat against the castle and the temperature dropped to a near unbearable cold, so much so that even the panes on the windows became crystalized in strange swirling patterns of snow and ice. Come summer, storms passed over leaving in there wake a near constant state of darkness, thunder rocking the turrets and shaking his domain to the very core. He expected her to be frightened, terrified by the hail like rain beating against the stone, or by the lightning as it struck through the sky like a superheated dagger, but she wasn't. Quite the contrary in fact. Countless times he catches her, frozen in her state of dusting and staring enraptured out the window, watching the rain pelt the glass and purple lightning dance a dangerous tango against the dark clouds. A shiver would pass through her and her lips would quirk into her deadly smile, a cross between confident curiosity and delight. He picked a strange one, but then again Rumplestiltskin was a collector of strange artifacts, and admittedly she was the strangest he'd ever possessed.

It was one of those evenings, and the rain had been pelting against the window for four days straight, to the point it had simply become a melodic lullaby in the back of his mind. His fingers danced about the spindle, the wool turning into gold before his eyes, when a particularly violent bolt of lightning struck near the window, so bright he saw Belle's face completely illuminated in the flash, her cerulean eyes wide as saucers. With the sigh that always came when he left his spinning, he stood, brushing the straw from his breeches and surveying the storm outside. Perhaps it was time they retire to the cellar, and wait out the worst of the storm. His caretaker was brave, but he was sure the feeling of the castle rattling must have brought her some discomfort. Besides, he worded thoughtfully, the dungeons could use a good cleaning. With a stretch and a giddy smirk he reached for Belle's arm, guiding her to the wooden door that led to the dungeons. He opened the door with a flourish and was instantly meet with complete darkness. With a crooked grin he produced a ball of fire in his hand, lighting the stairs and felt himself blanch in surprise. Belle released a small 'oh', peering over his shoulder at the state of the cellar. Dark water sloshed violently against the stairs, rising steadily and pouring in through the tiny barred windows that offered only brief flashes of light. He released a manic laugh, and with a half turn gestured to the storms by-product.

"Well go on dearie, we don't have all night!" he released another giggle and Belle blanched, her mouth agape with astonishment.

"You don't really expect me to go down there, do you?" she demanded, her hands already working knots into the blue skirt of her dress. With a slightly annoyed voice he responded, an eyebrow raised at her disobedience.

"Why of course I do, plenty of ancient magical artifacts down there that are probably being ruined right now as you titter on about getting your feet a little wet!" He replied as if this was completely obvious, and with a push against her lower back coaxed her down the stairs. She looked up at him, her face twisted into one of horror. The water brushed against her shoes.

"B-but I-"

"Nah! Nah!" he interrupted, a long finger pointed at her dangerously, and her expression turned sulky, before she sank into the water, causing her skirt to rise around her ridiculously, like some exotic bird with bright blue feathers. Her dark curls created strange patterns against her back and she dipped further into the water, so only her head and neck were visible. She turned to him in desperation, her face screwed up in displeasure.

"Rumplestiltskin, do I really-" he gave her a pointed look, one hand resting on the wooden door and the other still holding the ball of flame aloft.

"We don't have_ all_ night, dearie." His voice is serious despite his ridiculous tone, and she mentally readied herself before turning back to the water with a look of determination. She disappeared underneath the sloshing surface, and he elected to wait. And wait. And wait. He frowned, his foot tapping in annoyance as the girl took her bloody time with retrieving his things. Suddenly her hands broke the water's surface, and she rose, gasping and clawing the air for breath.

"Rum-!" her wet curls disappeared from view as she sunk under the water, her eyes bright blue even in the darkness.

"Now is not the time for theatrics, dearie." He said with a sneer, watching as his caretaker splashed around in the rainwater instead of saving his precious artifacts. Cheeky girl. She came up once more before sinking again, the tips of her fingers the last thing visible before she went completely under.

He mentally timed her, waiting for her form to rise for the third time above the water. She didn't. Cocking his head with confusion, he knelt, stepping down three of the stone steps where the water licked his boots. He peered into the water first with suspicion and then mild concern, squinting as he tried to peer past the brackish surface.

"Belle?" the alarm in his voice surprised him, and worry began to steep into his mind. Had she become stuck under the water? Was the current too strong for her? When no sign of her body appeared he put out the flame in his hand with a flick of his wrist and dove into the water in a single thrust, exhaling when he felt the cold liquid try to force its way into his nose. He found her form at the bottom of the stairs, the hem of her dress snagged against the wood of a chest that had slid in the heavy onslaught of water. He swam powerfully to the bottom, taking in the sight of her attempts to free herself in the form of her torn skirt, before ripping her free. With one arm snaked around her waist and the other pulling them to freedom, he broke the surface and tossed his hair from his eyes, one hand pulling their wet forms up the stairs and the other securing her closer. He pulled her onto the stone floor, pushing her away from the stairs before gripping the solid oak of the cellar door and pulling himself to safety.

"Well dearie, that wasn't one of your better moments now was it?" he gasped for air, turning to her with a jeer. She did not answer, and feeling his heart stutter he saw why. Her wet curls stuck to her face and neck, and underneath he could see her skin, cold and pale as the winter snow. Her lips, usually a bright healthy pink were purplish in the dim lighting, and her dark, wet lashes framed still closed eyes.

"Belle?" He felt panic grip his heart, and he gripped her shoulders, lifting her and listening over the sound of the storm for her heartbeat. There was no answering sound.

"Belle!" he shouted her name, shaking her slightly before searching, searching for some injury, something that kept her from breathing.

"_Belle_!" When she did not stir, and he could feel her skin growing colder by the second, he procured a dagger from thin air, and with a last second call of desperation and with barely a thought for her modesty he cut the laces of her corset, in a single quick slice.

"**Ugk, ugh!**" she sputtered and coughed violently, water passing through her suddenly flushed lips. He released a sigh of relief before composing himself, keeping his gaze trained on her face. She clutched the ruined fabric to her chest, covering herself and sitting up. Shivering, she blinked the wetness from her eyes and glanced around quickly, her lips taking on their bright color quicker than he thought possible.

"You could have warned me you couldn't swim well _dearie_, I'm not entirely cold hearted when it comes to the help." He said with a scoff, pulling off a boot as he did so and pouring out the water. She shivered, more out of anger than cold and gave him the most livid look he had ever seen.

"I can't swim at all, if you _must_ know." Her voice was poison, and laced with thorns that was even unusual for her. "And, I **did** try to 'warn' you!" she hit his arm with all the strength of a kitten, and he laughed at her blatant attempt to be frightening.

"You can't swim? Out of everyone in this world I get the only one who doesn't know how to swim!" he giggled at the hilarity of it, his manic laughter driving away her anger and filling her with frustration.

"Well I never learned!" she declared defensively. "Father didn't like me to leave the castle unsupervised, and it would have been improper of me to-"

He cut her off before she can continue, shaking a finger at her as he did so.

"Nah ah ah, _dearie!_ There will be none of that, no excuses for you faults! Not everyone can be _perfect_!" he flourished his hands dramatically, magicking his boots onto his feet before standing. He waved his hand over her and her dress mended itself, allowing her to stand without risking her decorum. The two returned to the main hall in silence to wait out the storm, with him sitting by the fire while she prepared tea. Rumple sipped his warm cup guiltily; his body sunk into the plush armchair while his eyes remained trained on the white hot center of the hearth.

"Rumplestiltskin…" he turned his attention to Belle, his eyebrows raised into his hairline as he waited for her to continue whatever sentiment she was about to voice. She set her cup on its saucer, hands folded in her lap while she regarded him with something he couldn't place.

"Thank you. You know, for saving my life."

He gulped, and felt the words rise into his throat without his command.

"You're welcome."


End file.
